


should've worshipped him sooner

by samodiv



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras and Cosette are siblings, Enjolras has problems with his family, F/M, Grantaire is a Mess, M/M, Neighbors, No Politics Just Chilling, Trans Enjolras, Trans Male Character, although I'm not sure I'm going to be mentioning it at all, just boys smoking weed by the beach, no actual e/r yet though don't expect anything, yeah actually im mentioning a lot of enj's transness so, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-01-25 19:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12539848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samodiv/pseuds/samodiv
Summary: "Far as R's concerned, attractive people exist solely to punish his miserable gay ass and are therefore entirely not allowed in his near vicinity. That is, except for his roomies, who make up for their looks by having lifestyles as trashy as his own, so they’re cool.Grantaire and the hot guy are definitely not cool."just a chill summer fic with not much plot (for now)





	1. good times with pretty strangers

**Author's Note:**

> not sure i'm continuing this, or how soon i'd be doing that if i am. if i don't continue it i'll fix the chapter count  
> this is yet another one of my self-insert fics hahah sorry about that  
> let me know what y'all think

         “Sette, I can’t move another thing,” Enjolras groans. His back is a separate entity of pain by this point. Cosette scoffs, rolls her eyes for good measure. “Up for a smoke break?” “Are you _kidding_ me?”

  
         The balcony is weird. There is a parapet, true, but it’s hardly a meter high, and Enj has never fancied heights. This sixth-floor business is going to take some getting used to. Cosette turns up whatever is blasting from her phone as she rolls herself a cigarette. Enj scrunches his face up at the sun. “Had to make us do the moving thing mid-shift, didn’t they?” “We get time off work, yo, why you complainin’?” He just gestures at the sky. “Why’s it gotta be noon, eh? What’s so bad with physical labor after, say, sundown? When it’s not sizzling hot outside?” Sette just shrugs, bringing a match to her cigarette. “Better chill out in the sun than be back in _there_ ,” and, alright, fair point.

         Mornings are simultaneously better and worse in the new apartment, Enjolras decides on his fourth day there. Seagulls seem to fancy the balcony their residence, land there a bit after sunup and cease screeching only around noon; additionally, the people upstairs are in the middle of bringing down a wall by the sound of it, and while that process miraculously halts at night, during the days it shamelessly adds to the collective cacophony. Yet, Enjolras can see the sea when he has his coffee outside, and that is… better.  
  
         Not to mention that the people on the top floor of the building opposite of his are _intensely_ intriguing to observe. (No one in particular, of course, and Enjolras wishes Cosette would stop waggling her eyebrows at him whenever he makes this clarification. What is she, twelve?)

* * *

  
         Bahorel rolls slow as all hell; Grantaire thinks he’ll age and die (awfully sober all the while!) before his roomie gets it done. Ép is unbothered as could be by the delay – her reality shit is on TV – but R is getting severely pissed. “Stop pacin’ round, mate, you’re distracting me!” Rel yells out without so much as looking at R. This is seriously hysterical at this point. R specifically made sure there’ll be a thick ass joint waiting for him soon as he gets home from his shift; and yeah, he’d have rolled himself, _was it not for his_ _hand_ , so he asked Rel to do the honors. He fucking brought Chinese for everyone. Damn it, he just _really_ needs to _chill_. “Seriously, man…” Rel groans again (R is still circling the room, by the power of his antsiness alone). “Grantaire, sweetie, go have a smoke outside, eh?” Éponine turns to point a look at him. God, the disrespect.  
  
         He only notices the hot guy after he’s finally managed to light his cig and slouch down on the sofa. (Why they keep the sofa outside is beyond him. Given that they never figured out whose it is, or what happened to its armrests, Grantaire doesn’t feel particularly inclined to move it anywhere, but still.) The hot guy, which is the name R has bestowed upon the stranger since he cannot for the life of him find a decent way to ask, is a rather recent addition to the landscape; the first time Grantaire saw him, he assumed the person was just visiting a friend or whatever, but it is now day four and R feels positively doomed. Far as R's concerned, attractive people exist solely to punish his miserable gay ass and are therefore entirely not allowed in his near vicinity. That is, except for his roomies, who make up for their looks by having lifestyles as trashy as his own, so they’re cool.  
  
         Grantaire and the hot guy are _definitely_ not cool.  
  
         So far, it’s not been a huge issue – the hot guy hasn’t, like, taken roots on his respective terrace, and Grantaire doesn’t really see him all that often. But. The hot guy is currently holding a phone conversation and Grantaire hasn’t heard anyone yell this loudly since he last talked with his father, probably. Jesus. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop, but it’s unavoidable. “… who are you to tell me how to live _my_ life?! Huh? You have literally no _right_ … Oh, fuck this, you’re not going to fucking guilt trip me _again_! I refuse to… Are you for fucking real? D-… I am _very much_ minding my language, ma, my first and only rule is to speak _honestly_! You wouldn’t… Yeah, alright, till fucking later.” Grantaire almost expects him to throw his phone across the parapet; it’s probably what he himself would do after such a shouting match. He strides over to the edge of his terrace, leans against the parapet. “You alright?” he offers. The hot guy jumps in his seat, almost to his certain death. Yikes. He glares at Grantaire. “Did you just listen in on my private conversation?” “Tried not to, swear ta God. So, you alright?” “No?” “Wanna smoke up?”  
  
         Grantaire doesn’t know why he makes the offer; not only does it sound creepy, but now the hot guy will think he’s an ugly _junkie_. (Which, he is, but that’s not the point.) The hot guy arches an eyebrow at Grantaire, and he wishes there was bit more distance between their buildings so he wouldn’t be able to discern literally the way the guy’s freckles move with the grimace. “’S alright if you don’t, I’m just offering. You sound tense, mate.” The hot guy smiles, uncertainly. “Actually, sure. I’m Enjolras?” “Nice. Grantaire,” R yells out. _Enjolras_. Fuck, even his name is hot somehow. “Hi, Grantaire.” “God, I hope.”  
  
         The hot guy-Enjolras laughs at that, which is sweet, because the joke isn’t even that good. “Meet me downstairs in ten?” R offers, and Enjolras nods. Nice. R goes for a little wave before putting his cig off and walking back inside. “Rel, I swear to God, you better be done rollin’,” Grantaire is so motivated that he would try to get the job done himself, broken fingers be damned. He’s still pleased when Bahorel waves a disfigured joint in his face. “There ya go, edgelord.” Bahorel even bows, sort of. Incredible. “But thank you, oh dear _ami_. This is beyond generous of your person.” “Just go smoke, dipshit,” Ép sighs from her spot in the only armchair they have.

* * *

  
         Normally, Enjolras wouldn’t accept an offer of such nature from a complete stranger, and the fact that the stranger is the tall ballet dancer with the cool hair that lives technically next to him normally wouldn’t mean much. (Like, he’d probably be _tempted_ , but he’d still refuse.) Not to mention how he has completely different plans for his day off that involve mostly the beach and “Pillars of the Earth”, eventually some dinner and watching a show with his sister and her boyfriend; there’s definitely nothing in his schedule about getting high, especially with someone else.  
  
         Then again, there was nothing in his schedule about his mother calling, was there?  
  
         He’s scrolling through his Twitter feed as he waits outside the front door of his building, trying to decide whether he should go through with this or scramble back inside. The latter sounds increasingly tempting as time passes. Grantaire appears before the idea wins over. “Hi,” he says. “Hi.” The silence that settles between them threatens to become awkward, and so Enjolras forces himself to speak. “Mind smoking by the sea?” “ _Please_.”  
  
         They start walking, and Enjolras really wants to hold at least some semblance of a conversation; he just doesn’t know where to start. He’s never been good with singular people. Crowds he can handle; individuals are tougher. “So, uh. What’s up with offering strangers weed?” “What’s up with accepting weed offers from strangers?” Grantaire responds without missing a beat, turns slightly to wink at Enjolras, a grin wide on his face. “Kinda having a bad day, I guess.” “Tell me about it,” it sounds more like an exclamation than an invitation, and Grantaire has to add a “That is, if you want to?” for Enjolras to realize. “Oh. Um. I mean, it wasn’t _going_ _to be_ a bad day, but my mother called.” “I suppose you’re not tight?” Enj scoffs at that. “Not in the slightest.” “Why’s she calling you then?” “It appears that I ought to tone down the vocalization of some aspects of my personality lest my grandma writes me out of her will. Which is complete bullshit because she’s been saying that ever since my emo phase, and also I’m twenty so I can do whatever the fuck I want, but they still have to… Ugh. Nevermind.” “Dude, for a second there you sounded like my research papers in sophomore year,” Grantaire laughs out, but he sounds impressed rather than mocking, and Enjolras smiles. “Might be ‘cause I’m gonna be a sophomore now.” Grantaire throws him a sympathetic look. “What are you studying?” “Poli Sci and Literature. And yes, I know I’m not finding a job anytime soon.” “I graduated Drama, and lemme tell ya, jobs are overrated anyways,” Grantaire waves his wrist in dismissal, and Enj giggles, amused by both the gesture and the sentiment. “True shit.”  
  
         They find themselves a quiet spot, not exactly located on the beach but still down by the sea. Grantaire takes off his T-shirt and throws it on the sand, sits atop it and looks up at Enjolras, seeming slightly ashamed. “Uh, hope you don’t mind? Not hella digging sand in my pockets.” Enj shrugs. He makes sure to leave at least some distance between himself and Grantaire; their kneecaps still brush.

* * *

  
         R passes the joint back to Enjolras, holding the smoke in. He’s really glad Enjolras isn’t the annoying type of high; he’s as chill as Éponine, which is a genuine achievement. “Wanna listen to some music? Or are we chill?” “Your weed, your rules, man,” Enjolras shrugs, carefully handing him the joint. “I know, but if you don’t want to, I’m good with quiet too.” “What music d’ya got?” Enjolras smiles, and Grantaire physically melts. He reaches for his backpack. “I only have some random house tracks on my phone, but,” he whips out his ukulele and waggles his eyebrows, “I do have this beauty right here.” “Oh, you play?” Enjolras sounds… intrigued. No one ever sounds fucking _intrigued_ by the prospect of Grantaire being able to play the fucking _ukulele_. This is ridiculous. “I mean, I guess? Like, I’m no Hendrix with it, but.” “Still cool, dude.”  
  
         And so Grantaire starts picking “Wonderwall”, because he actually is a breathing, walking shitpost. He absolutely does not expect Enjolras to start singing, and it must show because he stops, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. “No, no, please sing, I was just- no one _actually likes_ that song, c’mon.” Enjolras shrugs. “I kinda do.” “Wow.” “Don’t kinkshame me,” and holy shit, Grantaire has not expected to ever hear this phrase in real life without it being uttered by Bahorel. _He knows memes_ , Grantaire’s brain helpfully supplies. _He knows specifically queer memes, holy shitttttt_. Grantaire, of course, gives up on “Wonderwall” and takes up “Take me to church”, partly as a response to the kink-shaming accusation, partly to check. (Realistically speaking, he is aware that liking Hozier or particularly this song does not prove that one is interested in same-gender activities. On the other hand…) Enjolras laughs. It’s not a mean laugh, and Grantaire joins for a bit, takes the last drag, puts the fag off, then resumes picking the intro.

  
         Enjolras doesn’t sing this time, but the good thing is that Grantaire is starting to get in the zoneTM, so he isn’t too self-conscious to sing. Plus, the verses are relatively low. Plus, Éponine has told him several times that he doesn’t sing too badly, and she doesn’t lie to be nice, or in general, so. (Plus, Enjolras is smiling at him.)  
He looks at Enjolras in expectation when he’s nearing the chorus, and Enjolras rolls his eyes, and R almost doesn’t expect him to actually join in, but he does. They sound pretty nice together, he has to admit, Enjolras has a higher voice, more melodic. It _fits_.  
  
         “So, we’re neighbors,” Grantaire states once he’s finished the song. Enjolras nods, his expression falling in the lines of _duh, dude_. “Um, I mean, how come?” “Oh, uh. There was some drama at work and they decided to shift us around, one of the waiters hit one of the waitresses or something, so the boss had to move her out cause like, they lived at the same flat, so now the girl is where I used to live and I’m where she used to live.” “Oh, so you’re here for a summer job type thing?” “Yep. You?” Grantaire grins at that. “I’ve actually been living here fulltime for the past four years. Got sick of The City and moved here.” “How’s it during winters though? Must be bland.” Grantaire shrugs, attempting to seem nonchalant. (He wouldn’t replace the quiet of the winters for the world.) “It is, but it’s fine. The sea is still here. so.”  
  
         Enjolras smiles as a response, looking at the sea already. The sun isn’t quite setting yet, but the sky is turning a gorgeous violet, and its reflection in the sea, and the reflection of all that in Enjolras’ eyes, it’s something to write poems about. Not that Grantaire is a poet, but you know. If he was.


	2. revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjolras texts appear in bold, grantaire in bold and italic

            Marie is the first one to come downstairs this morning, a bit before 7 o’clock. Enjolras nods at her, one of his special nods, and the old maid winks at him. “Morning, sweetie,” she muses in her usual way. “Alright shift tonight?” “Only had a group coming in at 11:30 last evening, it’s been quiet.” “Where my reference sheet at?” Enjolras motions at the stack of papers on the reception; she flips through them, goes through hers matter-of-factly, then smiles softly at him. “Cook in there yet?” she waves towards the restaurant. “Yep, it’s all open.” “I’ll go fix us ladies a cuppa each. Want one, sunshine?” Enj raises his half-empty mug in lieu of a no.

            The ladies are all really chill, he has to admit, though Marie is certainly his favorite. Generally, still, all of them are lovely – his favorite part of a shift is taking a smoke break and sitting by the hotel pool with all these old ladies, listening to them discuss their absurdly wild love lives and crack jokes as the sun rises. Well, his favorite part of a night shift, anyways.

            Cosette comes rushing to work a bit after, clad in what is basically her pajamas and a slightly smudged full-face. “Fun night out?” he jokes. She throws him an icy glare. “Throw me my uniform and an aspirin and stop being a smartass, eh?” He dutifully obliges. (The deal is that the uniforms must _always_ be clean, so staff leaves them at reception after a shift and Paulie – the laundry lady – picks them up and leaves the clean ones, which means the last hour of Enj’s night shifts is always him going back and forth from reception to the tiny ass closet to distribute uniforms. Which, well, not the most fun you can have after sitting in an uncomfortable chair and trying not to fall asleep for seven hours, but, you know.) “Marius coming in today?” “You mean he hasn’t come in _already_?! Fucking hell…” Sette walks away towards the restaurant, lifting her phone to her ear. Enjolras tries not to laugh.

            His phone buzzes in his pocket; he throws a cautious look around the lobby, but save for Denisse mopping the floor by the elevator, there isn’t a living soul in sight. He carefully pulls his phone out. There’s a text from Grantaire.

            **_hey bro, wanna go get mf tan today? B-)_**

            Enjolras wants to laugh at the minefield of a question, he really does; he downs the remaining shitty coffee in his mug at once, his hands trembling violently. Fuck. (The issue is that Enj isn’t sure Grantaire _knows_ , and at this point he finds it rather clumsy to bring up the topic at all.) (Plus, it’s not like Enjolras _owes_ anyone this information, like, honestly, why is he thinking he has to inform people at all, what is this transphobic rhetoric even doing in his head, etc, etc.) (On the completely unrelated other hand, why is it that Enj is one hundred fucking percent positive Grantaire won’t make a huge deal out of it? Since when is Grantaire a safe person? They’ve known each other for three weeks? What is happening?) He sends probably the worst reply.

            **why on earth are you up at this ungodly hour lmaoo**

**_time is fake, my guy_**

**_time is fake_ **

**_so, are we doing a beach thing or nah_ **

**_(after u take a nap obvi. im speaking like.. 4ish?)_ **

**** **ill txt u after work ok?**

**_sure bro :)_**

            The remaining hour of the shift is a blur: Enjolras makes sure to smile at every tourist coming downstairs and greet them accordingly, despite how tightened his jaw feels, despite the storm swirling at the bottom of his stomach. Once Christine – the day-shift today – arrives, he all but flees as he is; gathering up his stuff and changing into his casual clothes seems to take way longer than usual, and it’s really, really great that his binder is biting viciously at his ribs, as if the garment wants to force him into confronting the _situation_. He crawls into the restaurant kitchen purely on muscle memory.

            “Sette, there’s a situation.”

     

* * *

 

            “Ép, there’s a situation.”

            Éponine blinks up at Grantaire, disoriented, and groans. “How’d you get yourself into a situation this early, my God?!” Grantaire isn’t sure how to answer that. Ép is supposed to help with the answers, damn it. “Look, I decided to brave out and ask him to go down to the beach.” Éponine raises an eyebrow at that as she scoffs. “As opposed to what you do every other day, which is go to the beach?” “Yes but I suggested we just sunbathe today.”

            If this was anyone else listening, R would get another confused look. However, this is his best-friend-since-primary, and she almost gasps. “Juicyyyyy! What’d he say?” “That he’d text me after work.” “Ouch.” “Yeah. And I mean, he tried to switch the topic at first? So I don’t know if I made him uncomfortable, like, I _probably_ did but…” “Hey, there’s no way for you to know that, so shut up. When does his shift end?” “Fourteen minutes ago. And he’s online.” “Okay, A, he might’ve been held up. B, he might still be walking home, that hotel isn’t super close to here, right? C, he might’ve gotten home and blacked out. None of which mean he’s ignoring you, or angry with you, or disgusted by you, okay?” Grantaire sighs. “Yeah, I guess, but what if he _is_ ignoring me on purpose?” “Well, it doesn’t sound like you did anything offensive, so if he _is_ ignoring you, it’s probably cause he has something else to do right now. Or, y’know, sleeping. Which I’d love to get back to, for the grace of God, so if you don’t mind,” she makes a vague hand motion. Grantaire reaches out to lightly squeeze her shoulder. The gratitude is silent. “I’ll buy yoghurt later.”

            He’s nervously biting his nails, cigarette long forgotten in the ashtray, when his phone finally gives out a “beep!”

            **so, im all in for that but i gotta tell u smth**

Great. Now he’s three times as anxious! Yay.

            **_sure man wassup :)_**

 **** **aight so, i cant be shirtless?? so like**

**_did u get a chest tattoo recently wow sick_**

**** **no, uh**

 _You are nailing this, he totally doesn’t sound uncomfortable, good fucking job, dude._ Grantaire lights the poor cig again as he glares at the three moving dots.

            **so i didn’t expect to be forced into sharing this at all but w/e.. im actually a trans man? lmao**

Grantaire drops his phone. He barely registers the sound of the screen cracking because he’s too busy mentally drowning himself in lava. Preferably in the very heart of a volcano. God, he’s such a jerk.

            He eventually manages to reach down and pick up his phone. Sure enough, there’s a text waiting for him. R forgets how to press the icon for a second.

            **i…. hope thats not an issue?**

**_why wld it be an isseu!!!!_**

**_im sorry for the suggestion tho !!!!_ **

**_we dont have 2 do that if ur gonna be uncomf_ **

**** **nah, i said im in and i meant it :-)**

**just pls ignore my bikini top it is.. very weird**

**_how weird are we talking one to salvador dalí_**

**** **bright pink with butterflies on it…**

**_that sounds cool tho!!_**

**_but ill make sure not to stare/comment on it_ **

**** **bless**

**aight i am dying for sleep so ill text u when i get up? and we can arrange stuff?**

**_sure thing bro_**

**_go get that resttttt_ **

**** **:-)**

**_:)_**

            As soon as Grantaire calms down enough, he calls Joly.

* * *

 

            The alarm mercilessly wakes Enj at three-thirty. Which is, sure, a good seven hours, but he wishes he had bit more time to sleep every once in a while. This lack of sleep is a very recent development, and while he doesn’t exactly mind having a friend, he sure loves a hearty nap. Not that he’d choose sleep over Grantaire, and this is a perplexing point in itself.

            He puts on a robe and heats some water, rummaging through the travel bags for any instant coffee. _This room is a mess_ , he thinks to himself. _Next off day I’m getting this place real prim and proper…_ Although, most probably his next day off will be spent with R by the sea, as the previous three have been – which is, again, the perplexing point from earlier.

            It’s been three weeks now, and Grantaire has somewhat become a permanent part of Enj’s life. The two hang out after work every day: sometimes smoking, sometimes simply singing together, or laying on the sand and watching vines, or reading side by side down on the beach. They exchanged social media accounts at some point for the sake of easier scheduling, and coincidentally started occasionally sending each other memes, but save for that, they don’t talk much. Mostly, they complain about work, or about particular things if such are present; otherwise, they just smoke, sing, and watch the sea. It’s a lovely sort of quiet. (Enjolras can’t figure out why he enjoys this quiet. He constantly surrounds himself with people who are vocal about everything that bothers them, about everything that pleases them, about everything, in general – and that fire is something he seeks out. He loves discussions and arguments the way he loves breathing. More, perhaps. Usually.) Anyways, the quiet is working, and Enj supposes it’s for the best; he’s practically able to coherently discuss only politics, at this point in his academic career, and he wants to have at least a part of his day that isn’t 100% dedicated to party systems or how to abolish corruption successfully or leadership trait analyses. (When he told Combeferre about this, during one of their two phone conversations this month, his friend was awfully quiet for a full minute. “I’m so happy you’re not ruining yourself,” was the eventual response, and Enjolras still ponders upon its meaning. Sure, he’s throwing himself into politics quite steadily, but it isn’t a… bad thing? Is it?)

            He takes his coffee outside and lights himself a cig. Right as he’s pulling out his phone to text Grantaire, he hears a voice. “So you’re up, I see.” “Morning to you too,” Enj laughs out. “Gimme twenty minutes and we can get going.” “Neat.” He’s trying not to stare, but Grantaire looks a bit rough around the edges. And, okay, probably Enjolras isn’t on a level of friendship that would allow him to ask R if he’s been crying, but it’s not a pleasing sight, and he needs to say something, at least. “You okay, man?” “Yeah, it’s chill.” R grins as he’s putting off his cigarette, then waves at Enj and goes inside his apartment.

            (Enj types and deletes “u sure u’re fine?” about twenty times. He doesn’t send it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a lot of enj dealing with his transness  
> also grantaire's severe paranoia was. very fun to write. by fun i mean why  
> next update probably in december because what are schedules


	3. promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjy is a trans mess and grantaire is trying to be nice

            Enjolras was right: the bikini top is ridiculous. But Grantaire promised not to stare or comment on it, and he sure as hell isn’t one to break promises, so he just gives his neighbor a high-five and a smile. “Sleep well?” Enjolras shrugs. “Slept alright. Our spot?” Grantaire nods, and they set off. Enjolras is wearing his beach shorts and the bikini top with a fishnet tank on top of it, a tote bag slung over his shoulder with a bright red towel. It’s not a big change from how he usually dresses, but it’s still outrageous how good he can look in such simple attire. (Which, if Grantaire is too _shy_ to tell him, what’s the point of thinking about it and torturing himself?)

            Enjolras has brought himself a book too, and promptly lies down on his towel, flipping the book open and putting the bookmark (a pressed hyacinth) into his bag. Grantaire decides to small-talk his way into eventually getting to the apology. “What are you reading?” “Uh, _Atonement_? You might’ve seen the movie, it has James McAvoy. World War Two fiction.” “Didn’t know you were into war lit,” Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “There’s not much _of_ the war in this,” Enjolras lifts up the book and waves it a little. “’Sides, I have to read things that aren’t Margaret Hermann from time to time or my brain starts addressing any fiction as political propaganda.” Right, cause Enjolras is a PoliSci major who’s going to save the world. “What are _you_ reading?”

            Grantaire blushes at the question because really, he’s not sure _why on Earth_ a normal human would just casually pick up this book; he’s going to come off either as an Art student or as a witch, now, isn’t he? “Er, it’s- it’s an analysis on how Aphrodite was worshipped in ancient Athens and Attica?” “Oh? You’re interested in ancient Greece?”

            (Grantaire had a children’s book with Greek myths memorized at the age of five.)

            “Look, you don’t get through a degree in Drama without developing a fondness for the Hellenes,” he tries to joke; he really doesn’t need anyone else making fun of his investment in everything the Olympians, he got the memo in fourth grade that it’s a loser interest to have.

            “I’ve been left with the impression that Aphrodite sorta oversaw democracy in the polis?” Enjolras casually throws, almost as if he hasn’t heard Grantaire’s prior line. He _casually throws some extremely nerdy opinion about Grantaire’s special interest_. _What if Grantaire foregoes the whole apology thing and just goes to asking him out on a date right now holy heck_ except, really, he needs to do the apology first. Shit. “Okay, sorry, but I need to say something? And then we can go back to this absolutely delightful conversation?” Shit. The boy shrugs, a confused expression on his face. “Sure, man, what’s up?”

            (What was the speech how did it start oh _fuck_ ) Grantaire reaches for his phone, mortified. “Um, do you- I don’t want to be offensive but I’m going to read it actually?” “O…kay?” He taps on the conversation with Joly and scrolls up to the text, clears his throat, throws an uncertain look at Enjolras. “Aight. So. _I would like to offer some apologies, which you are in no way obliged to accept. To begin with, I am terribly sorry for not asking about your pronouns the first time we met. I shouldn’t be forgetting about this, and I will work towards—_ ” “Grantaire…” Enjolras begins to say, but Grantaire can’t stop right now. “Hold up, mate, not much more. _I will work towards getting better. Further, a text you sent me stated that you were pressured into sharing a detail about your personal life, and it horrifies me to think that I’ve forced you into anything of the sort. I would be grateful if you told me what in my behavior caused this so I can remove it._ ” Grantaire puts his phone back in his pocket and forces himself to look at Enjolras, who seems incredibly lost. “You don’t, uh, you don’t actually have to answer any of this.” “Grantaire…”

            “Yeah, um, back to Aphrodite taking care of political harmony. She, uh, she did. As Aphrodite Pandemos mostly, even though I think her epithets didn’t matter much? She’s a wholesome deity in general.” “Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Enjolras smiles up at Grantaire, and Grantaire so did not sign up for any of this life-threatening shit. “Taire, why are you apologizing?”

            (Because he’s useless at anything else.)

            “Uh, because I should know better? One of my closest friends is trans and- I sound like I’m trying to pass as an ally right now, don’t I?” “Kinda,” Enjolras barely masks a giggle for a cough. “Shit. No, I mean, Joly was a student of mine but we got really close when they graduated and like, they’ve _told_ me how shady transphobia is. Like, in theory, I should be doing better! And I actually made a habit of asking people about their pronouns – you should see the funky looks I’ve gotten, mind you – but the one time I actually meet a trans person I don’t ask? I’m really sorry about that.” “You really shouldn’t be,” Enjolras sighs. “I mean, usually people ask me about my pronouns and they’re implying I “don’t look like either”, so I’m not really into the question cause it tends to target and single out trans people?”

            Wow. That’s almost the polar opposite of what he meant.

            “Enjolras, I was apologizing for assuming you’re a cis dude bro who would punch me if I asked about his pronouns,” Grantaire deadpans, and Enjolras seems to lose his voice for a moment. And now Enjolras seems like he’s going to cry and Grantaire’s mind starts yelling ‘WELCOME TO HELL!!’, like in that tumblr post except even worse. “Shit, man, sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I-“ “ _Upset_ me?” Enjolras snaps; they’re both equally shocked at his tone. “Grantaire,” he all but whispers, after regaining his composure, “Grantaire, there’s a very limited amount of people that see me as a dude bro. A grand total of three people, probably. You can’t just—” and he breaks into tears. For once, Grantaire isn’t entirely useless in his panic, and he gets up and crosses over to Enjolras’ shaking figure. “Hey, hey, what’s the problem?” He sits down next to Enjolras, unsure if it’s okay to touch him. “It’s…” Enjolras is hiccupping too hard to complete whatever it was he meant to say. Well, fuck. “Bro, can I hug you? Would me hugging you help?” Enjolras nods one too many times, and so Grantaire carefully wraps his arms around his friend’s body, running his hands up and down the other’s back. “Shh, bro, it’s okay.” “You can’t just tell me you thought I’m cis like it’s nothing,” Enjolras growls, if growling sounded like hungry kitten noises. “S—” “ _If_ you say sorry _one_ more time,” Enjolras escapes the hug to glare at Grantaire. They stare at each other for a few seconds before laughter overtakes the both of them.

            “So, Aphrodite, huh,” Enjolras eventually concludes, laying down on his back and motioning for Grantaire to do the same. (The towel isn’t wide enough for the both of them, but who would complain about something like that, now?) “Aphrodite indeed.” “So does your book say if she’s eventually an Olympian or precedes them?” Grantaire groans. “Are you _kidding_ me? This question’s never going to be answered. Academic blood has probably been shed over this.” “God, I know, right? But it’s so frustrating that the myth disagrees on such a pivotal detail.” “Man, I can’t believe you actually like these things.” “I mean, the Greeks invented democracy, I can’t study the politics without studying the polis too.” “Fair point.”

            If someone had told Grantaire that one day he’d be laying down in the sun having a discussion on ancient myth with a handsome and intelligent man, he’d have laughed. This is comfort not even Bahorel has ever managed to give him; hell, not even Éponine. “You better?” he turns a bit to ask Enjolras, who blushes and nods. “Cause… I wanna ask you a question, if that’s fine.” “Uh, can I ask you one before that?” “Sure, go ahead.” “Grantaire, do you want to maybe kiss me?”

            Grantaire turns into a coughing mess. Jesus Christ, this man.

            “Damn, I can’t ask you out first?” Grantaire chokes out helplessly. Enjolras slaps himself on the forehead and hides behind his fingers as he mumbles, “Please, if you were going to do that, go for it, I don’t know the social norms.” “Enj,” Grantaire says, as gingerly as possible, turning his body towards Enjolras’ and inching his arm closer to the other’s, “would you like to go out with me?” “We’re already out,” Enjolras feebly points out. “Don’t be cute,” Grantaire groans before reaching to move Enjolras’ hand from his face. Their fingers tangle together almost on instinct. “Yes, Grantaire, I’d love to go out with you.”

* * *

 

            Enjolras is frankly shocked with how easily he’s taken this whole revelation. It sure explains a lot, for one, because it makes sense – of _course_ he has a crush on Grantaire, this is Grantaire after all. At the same time, he’s really usually not one for being this direct. Usually, flat-out asking hot boys to kiss him is way out of what he’s comfortable doing. But, this is Grantaire after all.

            “Of course I want to go out with you, what sort of question is this even?” he’s rambling by this point, because wow, this sure is a newfound peak of the awkwardness mountain. Grantaire is looking at him like he’s just saved the world. “Are you sure though? I’m bit of a mess.” “And I’m extremely put together, sure,” Enjolras muses, bringing their joint hands to his lips. Grantaire’s whole face burns bright red. “Man, I hope I’m not hallucinating this right now.” “Want me to pinch you?” Enjolras offers before leaning up close to Grantaire’s neck. “Or do you want me to bite you?” Grantaire inhales sharply at that. “How are you such a tease, this is unfair,” he whispers, almost in Enjolras’ hair given the way they’re standing right now. “Your face is unfair.”

            Grantaire pulls back a tad and looks at Enjolras with an emotion he’s never seen on anyone’s face before – yet he can imagine this right here is what brings revolutions into being. “Enjolras, when can I take you out?” he all but pleads. “Can’t we count right now?” “I’m tempted,” a tiny laugh escapes Grantaire, and Enjolras is mesmerized as always. “But no, I want to do this proper, even if it’s dinner and a movie.” “Tomorrow, then. I’m off, should be up about the same time as today.” “Sounds perfect.” “Don’t you have an evening shift, though?” “I’ll call in sick, say I broke another finger,” Grantaire shrugs, nuzzling his nose against Enj’s. Enjolras giggles at that before cupping the other’s cheek and drawing him closer until their lips form into a union at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some gentle bois this christmas  
> (also the book "worshipping aphrodite" by rachel rosenzweig is a serious and lovely work that i legit plan on stealing from the uni library)


End file.
